Flushed Away: Meet Roddy and Rita
by Zumester
Summary: An introduction to the characters of Flushed Away, Roddy and Rita, as I believe how AardmanDreamworks wanted them to be seen physically and mentally. A prequel to the rest of my Flushed Away series. [RoddyXRita] Now complete![Movie Starts After Chapter 2]
1. The Day Before

Speaking with some fellow authors who greatly inspire me, and reading your uplifting reviews, I've decided to continue my writing. I will begin from the start of the film, and eventually intertwine all my work into a grand tale of tragedy and happiness. The purpose of these stories is not to simply retell the movie, but add an intimate understanding of the reasoning, actions and emotions of the characters. I used the film to my advantage here, pausing it nearly every scene, looking to the characters for inspirations, their facial expressions for how they felt. If you do place close attention, you will note the expressions through out the movie tell a story of there own: I plan to record it. It'll take some time, so bear with me.

This is a prologue-type story, which I feel really sets up the characters for my series. It delves a bit into the movie, but it's based mostly on my own perception of what happened before. This takes place about 3 hours before Tabitha's family leaves for holiday. So, without further adue...

Oh wait, the sue-thing. yea I don't own these characters/plot/anything, so keep your Legal Eagles to yourself. For the rest, please sit back and enjoy...

_Flushed Away: Meet Roddy and Rita_

Roderick St. James parried the next blow easily. His assailant twirled with his blade, looking for an opening in Roddy's defenses. Roddy held out his rapier with confidence, deflecting every attack with a mere flick of the wrist. Growing confident, he began to perform a series of lunges. The attacker backed off, moving his bod rhythmically to dodge the strikes. Then, the figure saw its opening. Roddy felt its sword puncture his lower abdomen. He yelped out in shock, clutching the open gash.

"Loosing your guard, monsieur?" The dark figure cackled madly, as it bounded away with a back flip, landing a short distance onto a solid surface. It stood high, cloaked in black, dark clouds drifted around it, obscuring its true shape. Raising its sword high about his head in a defiant manner, Roddy watched as its lips parted; A sinister grin spread across it, the white teeth glowing in the gloom. Its eyes shined a dark, musky yellow.

"I'm just getting…warmed up!" Roddy chattered through his teeth. He was already starting to feel cold. He looked down at his hands to see them covered in his own blood. _Not good. _His eyes began to loose focus, but something inside him spurred him forward.

"Roddy… Roddy, help me!" cried a feminine voice. Roddy peered upwards. Towering above him, tied to a long metallic pipe that lie horizontally, a figure shone. Literally. It glowed as if it was made of light, in the shape of a rat; its essence the sun. She hung low, a rope which coiled around her like a venomous snake.

"I'm coming, my fair lady!" Roddy roared. Raising his sword, he charged toward the French speaking figure. It had bounded all the way to where the rat-lady was hanging from.

Roddy approached where the damsel dangled. As he gazed up, his pupils had to refocus; she was glowing brighter than ever. He could not make out who she was however. The only feature beyond the glow was two sparkling emerald eyes. Above him, foot on the rope which hung the prisoner, a new voice rang out:

"You will not be a hero today, RAT. Today shall be, MY DAY!"

Roddy shot a glance far to the left; another demon-like shape stood high atop a soaring pillar. This new thing was massive, covered in dark lumps; a ball standing on two twigs for feet it seemed. Wearing a crown, as well as being adorned with a cape and scepter, it barked out orders to the figure with the French accent, words Roddy could not understand.

Roddy felt the ground begin to sink. The black earth turned to liquid, and his feet sunk into the creeping fluid. Then, as if commanded by the clouded figure, the ground froze; Roddy was trapped, sunk to his ankles in the tar-like fluid. He began rampantly slashing at the ground beneath him, hoping to cut through.

After a moment, Roddy felt a sudden wind. His brown hair began to wave wildly in the growing torrent. Having no idea what was happening, he could only watch in horror as a wall of water approached him. It loomed over him, at least three hundred times his size, and was approaching with rapid speed.

The king-like shape now yelled another series of commands.

"And now, I must bid thee tout à l'heur monsieur!" The other snarled triumphantly. It brought it's sword to the rope from which the lady hung. With a quick flick, the line was severed, and the golden figure began to plunge downwards, toward where Roddy was trapped. The small springy demon and its master walked across the pipe and disappeared.

_Oh, bother…_

A shrill scream was all that Roddy heard before the wall of water crushed him, sweeping him into the unknown…

"AHH!"

Roddy bolted upwards, suddenly alert of his surroundings. A soft beep of an alarm clock sounded throughout the otherwise silent room of his owner, which read 6:00am. He gasped for air, icy sweat lined his forehead. _Easy Rodders…it was just a dream._

He rubbed his eyes softly and relaxed a bit. Still, something seemed wrong. _What in the world was that? Two weirdoes and some girl…_ It wasn't often Roddy had nightmares; at least as far as he could remember. Recently however, he'd been having the same one, over and over.

_Boy, I really need to stop watching all those war movies with Sarge. It's starting to get to my head, I think. Saving Private Dylan was more than I could handle…_

The door to his owner's room slowly creaked open. Roddy quickly curled up and pretended to be asleep.

"Tabitha?" Her mother went to her daughters' bed. "Tabitha, darling. Its time to wake. Our plane departs in a few hours." Her mother crooned sweetly into her ear.

_Aha! There leaving today!_ A grin sprang to Roddy's face. _I'll have the house all to myself…_

Roddy St. James, as he was called by, well, himself, lived in a luxurious house in Kensington District, London. He was the only pet in the household, so he couldn't say he had any roommates, besides his kind owner, Tabitha. But he couldn't talk to her or make contact. So, technically he lived alone; but Roddy didn't think so. Tabitha's collection of dolls proved to be excellent company for him.

Yep, life was easy, life was simple. Life was truly great…or so he thought.

It wasn't every day Roddy was left with the penthouse; Tabitha had school most of the time, but he was confined to her room, and even then it was risky. What if her mother had come in, finding a rat parading about with a couple of dolls? _I don't think my poor ears could stand THAT scream…_Still, he had appreciated his owner. She'd bought him many outfits in his size, such as his robe. For Christmas, he'd even received his own car! _I'm still getting the hang of that one though…_Roddy had remembered his unfortunate collision with the coffee table; resulting in multiple broken vases.

Tabitha was yawning loudly, pulling herself out of bed. She sat for a moment, stretched, and headed out of the room.

_It'll be a while until they leave…What can I…I mean, we, possibly do today? _Pondered Roddy, thinking about his collection of 'friends and family' 'living' down in Tabitha's dollhouse. Of course, he didn't like to think of them as just dolls. _I prefer motor-and-movement-skill deficient. Makes much more sense._

In reality, Roddy had really known nothing else; he could not recall his years of youth, nor anyone he might of known. Not his father, mother, or siblings. No friends, visitors; just his owner. All he knew was that he was living large and wasn't complaining.

Who could blame him for befriending and interacting with inanimate objects? He had known nothing better his entire life.

He pulled out a sketchpad from underneath his bed, and began etching down a list of ideas for the day. _How about bookshelf climbing? Hmmm... I'm not sure if I would trust Sarge so soon after last time…_Roddy had ended up falling five bookshelves lengths, luckily onto the couch, resulting in some minor injuries (a bruised tail, and a clipped toenail.) _Lava jumping? _Roddy massaged his rump as he thought of that. He didn't quite make the leap over the kitchen-top stove that time either. _Can't go wrong with golfing though, _he thought happily, and jotted it down.

As he furiously scribbled onto the pad, he though of the dream again; the rat-woman figure with jade eyes. Roddy thought deeply, recalling his feelings. The joy that he felt when he was actually needed by someone, someone relying on him.

_Will I ever know that joy in the real world? The question here being, do I want to?_

He stopped momentarily. _Of course not, I have everything I need, right here._ _Luxury, food, a warm bed, and entertainment. What more could a chap want in life?_ He put off the thought, and added 'Movie' to the list.

_Today is going to be the best day ever!  
_

* * *

Meanwhile, deep underneath the streets of London, below the hubbub of traffic and footsteps of the humans, lied an network of caverns. However, they were not uninhabited. Rats roamed these sewers, constructing and tirelessly working like their human counterparts above them. Known as the Rats of the Underground, a great society was founded beneath London. Cities stretched for miles upon miles built by rat kind, from every kind of material imaginable. A quote would suffice to explain their mindset: One Man's trash is another Rat's treasure. With this in mind, there was no limit to what could be made. 

However, one particular Rat in the sewer worked a lot harder than most. Her name is Rita Malone, and her heroic destiny was about to unfold. Born into a poor family, she became a 'scavenger', scouring the drains for valuable goods to sell or trade.

There was something unique about her, though. She was not motivated to accrue wealth and riches for herself; but for her clan. She worked tirelessly day and often nights, on her faithful old boat, _The Jammy Dodger, _alongside her father. It had been this way since the family had begun to grow.

The Malone family was in constant need of money. With ever new addition to their family, a new demand was set at the household. Mouths had to be filled with food, beds covered in sheets, rooms to be built. Such was the life of a Rat.

Day in and day out, she and her father pulled out of their garage, and set out to do a days work. It was only Rita and him; her siblings had been too young or were still too childish to work the drains. But what could she say? It was responsibility. She couldn't say she loved it, but at the end of the day, it was worth it. Food on the table, sheets on the beds, rooms built. Next day? Rinse, or in her case shower, and repeat.

However, recently there had been an accident, followed quickly by a series of unfortunate events. Her father, in an attempt to seize a valuable jewel, had severely hurt himself in the process. Putting himself out of commission, Rita was the only one old and able enough to provide for the family. Later, the prized possession Mr. Malone had acquired was stolen by non other than the crime lord of Ratropolis: the Toad. Rita, infuriated by the toll that cursed gem had taken on her family, seized it back.

This cost her greatly. The Toad and his men were constantly on the look out for her. She could not return to her house as often anymore, in fear that she would lead the enemy to her most prized possession of all: her family. She took extended scavenging trips away from home, or so she told her mother that, to keep her calm and unaware of the predicament she was in. It was still partially true, though.

Things were looking up a bit; the pace of the Toad's hunt had slowed to a crawl, and Rita had found many new valuable items of salvage. A working cell phone was one her many new gadgets she'd acquired; it would fetch a high price on market.

And so, began another seemingly innocent day in the London Underground. On the outskirts of town, deep in a remote channel, a boat was anchored outside of a drain pipe.

On board, lie the new, noble captain of the _Jammy Dodger_; fearless and bold nothing would stand between her and glorious conquest… Unfortunately, at the moment she was face down drooling profusely on her pillow.

She was mumbling words; her voice muffled by the small lake of saliva and soaked cloth. Abruptly, the silence of the sewers was broken as she bolted up from her bed, nearly screaming. She panted heavily, awaking from a terrible nightmare.

_What was that all about?_ Rita thought to herself.She had just had the weirdest dream…_I was tied up so high; watching somebody fight…then he got hurt... I called him something…what was his name?_ She could not remember for the life of her what she had cried out. _Then someone cut me loose, and I just fell…right into a huge wave of water…but who was that guy with the sword?_

Rita wasn't one to be superstitious, but this was just plain odd. She didn't have nightmares that often. At least, not since... She frowned slightly when she thought of her father's accident. She instinctively felt for the Ruby she'd recovered, calming herself as she did so. Her brooding was interrupted however, by the sound of scraping metal emitting out of the nearby drain.

_LOOT!_

She automatically jolted into wakefulness; these sorts of skills were a necessity for her job. She lunged for the controls, jumped the boat into high gear, and steered it closer to the pipe. The sounds were louder now, and the water began to ripple slightly. The cavern began to reverberate; little chucks of rock fell from the roof. _Wow, it's a big one today._

Every week, in the streets of South hall District in London, a large accumulation of junk would be washed out when the street-sweeper would pass by a large open drain; at the end of which was Rita, armed with a trusty hook, sitting poised to strike at the numerous artifacts that were slowly creeping down. The _Dodger_ idled, slowly rising and falling with the rolling waves.

_There! Alright Jammy, get ready!_

The first bits of treasure began to rain down out of the pipe. However, Rita's eyes were attuned to only find what looked valuable. For example, her eyes were trained to phase out a broken spoon or a rusty nail, and be drawn to a golden sparkle in the mess of metal.

_What was that?!_

Rita spotted something, a silver glint in the cascade of gunk falling from the pipe. She extended the hook, and slid it into a rung of the silver item. She began to haul it in; slowly but surely it emerged out of the grimy green stream. Once in range, she wrapped her hands around it and tugged in.

Once it was on board, she cleaned off the grunge off it. Rita held up what appeared to be a solid silver chain. _Yes! Totally sweet, I knew I'd find something out here._

Silver was good, but gold was better; which is precisely what she saw when she looked back toward the floating debris. Rita dropped the chain onto the deck, along with her jaw.

Floating on a milk carton was a golden pocket watch. _Solid 24 karat; must acquire._ She was a machine of item-forage. It was a little farther out than she hoped; she couldn't maneuver the boat any closer. Adding an extension rod to the hook, Rita reached out to seize it, latching onto a ring at the top. With the utmost care, she pulled slowly on the watch. _Dang, it's heavy! Must be filled with dirt or something…Its okay, dad and I will clean it out at home and make it good as new!_

Still latched to it, she drew in the hook hard, and the watch slipped off the carton into the water. Now it was just a simple matter of pulling it in. Or at least, it would have been if the watch didn't weigh a cow's worth._ More like, Toads worth._ She grinned.

Rita found herself struggling. Her footing was slipping; she was gradually being pulled towards the side of the boat by the weight of the watch, not to mention the hook was beginning to bend as it sank deeper into the green pool.

"Urrgh!" She yanked harder. _Comon', I need this! Everyone's counting on ME! Argh!_

The hook could not hold any more stress. Rita gave one last heave, all she had in her.

SNAP!

The hook broke in two at the elbow, and Rita was thrown backwards onto the deck.

"No!" She yelped in sorrow. She clambered up to her feet and ran back to the side, only to catch the final glimpse of the torn hook, still clutching the watch, sinking into the abyss. _NO!_

Rita fell back, nearly in tears. How could this happen? She had it right then, she could almost reach out and grab it! Her family was counting on her, that watch would have fetched such a pretty penny, if not multiple pounds. But she wasn't strong enough to pull it in alone…_alone..._

Rita crossed her legs and gazed down at her boots, head hung. _If dad was here…if only dad was here…or someone…anyone…I'm just so alone…_She could not help but feel the icy void tug at her essence. A single, crystalline tear rolled down her cheek, which she promptly wiped away.

_Now is not the time to be crying you big lummox! Get a hold of yourself! _

If there was one Rita Malone despised more than the Toad, it was showing weakness. Rita was a hardworking, 'live-for-the-moment' London girl. Opinionated, and never afraid to take a risk, she stood stronger than most rats in the London underground. But unbeknownst to the world, underneath that tough girl attitude and cheer, there were feelings; hard to believe at first glance. But the last thing she could afford during times like these was expose her emotions.

She slowly rose to her feet, looking at the bubbling mess of salvage that lie before her. Nothing of much value remained. Rita gave out long sigh…life had become much harder, indeed. She thought of her father again...

"You heard what they said Jammy, he might not even be able of physical work again…" she mumbled sadly.

She pet the wheel of the boat lovingly. She found consolation in it, somehow. _Reminds me of dad, it does. _She laughed, wondering what others would think of her talking to inanimate objects. _People'd think I was loony or something…_

And if there was one thing Rita Malone was also good at, it was masking those feelings.

She threw the_ Dodger_ in reverse and backed out of the drain reservoir. Pulling forward, she rounded the corner and headed for Ratropolis's trade district; _Might as well put that chain on the market for now._ It would still be a few days until she'd return home, however. She had a few more salvage stops planned ahead.

_Whatever, it'll be okay. This chain will be fine for today's haul, though. Father will be so pleased! Not to mention some of this other stuff I fished up, it'll be great for the family._ Rita smiled, and raised her head. _Yea…family. We're not so alone after all, are we Jammy?_ The morning sun shone brilliantly through a grate above. The singing of birds could be heard over the low murmur of the engine.

_Yea…things are going up from here on out. Something big is coming; I can feel it!_

As cliché as it sounds, little did she know how right she was.

* * *

This was a little delayed in itself, as I've been working on Flushed Away 2: A project with my dad fixing broken sewer pipes no part in thanks to people who will remain unnamed, coughsistercough, flushing massive quantities of toilet paper down the drain. (My attempt at some giggle-inducing humor, lets see you try!). Piled on with my jobs, and the looming SAT's (now finished, thank you God.) have set me back a bit. I'm going to work my hardest in continuing these tales. So, once again, thanks for reading and don't forget to leave me your words of wisdom! 


	2. Twelve Hours and Counting

Lodged in the heart of Ratropolis, Chinatown always had an eerie ambience to it in the late hours, chimes twinkling in the still night. Small lanterns hung low on fish-wire, draped across the channels, in traditional oriental style. Stacks of empty Chinese food cartons made up a majority of the buildings; assorted Chinese items contributed to their other features.

Rats on their ways home from work usually made up the bulk of the people on the streets; the night was late however. The lanes would have been bustling with traffic and the roads with merchants, selling their various goods from silk to oranges to metallic salvage; as well as the occasional doom-saying of the marauding prophet Harold. (Yes, his words reached even the far east of the sewers).

Even more out of place was the grey boat that pulled under a decaying wooden bridge. _The Jammy Dodger_, covered in mud from the days work, trudged on trough the calm streets. Broken bits of salvage cluttered the deck.

Aboard the ship, behind the various light displays and dials of the helm, Rita Malone navigated the waterways. Her face looked worn down; clothing ridden with muck: just another day in the drains of London.

First thing was first; Rita had business to do here. One of Chinatown's lesser known scrap dealers, Charlie Wu, had been a premier purchaser of Rita's salvage. She had a long running history with him, which was always a good thing, and even better for her pocketbook.

_Fuel almost empty...As well as my stomach. Oh well, I'll grab a bite after I stop by Charlies._

The boat pulled into dock by a small, quaint and very oriental looking cottage; presumably made of Popsicle sticks and Asian trinkets. The aura around it possessed a mystical quality, as if magic itself was in the air. Rita smiled when she thought of the owner; he was anything but magical.

Turning back to her days collection, Rita picked out the most valuable of the lot and placed them into a old scrap box. Hauling it out to the dock, she continued on into the old shop.

Stepping through the glass bead entrance, she was immediately hit with a wave of incense. The shop was darkly lit; small candles provided a spiritual, glow effect. The walls were adorned with old-looking items, small bits of metal shaped in bizarre ways.

But she wasn't here to shop. Dealing was part of business.

"Ahh, what have the winds of the west brought to my humble store?"

An extremely overly-done oriental voice came floating from behind the shop counter, and a figure emerged from the darkness; A small man, dressed in a traditional kimono type outfit.

"Cut the act Charlie, it's me." Rita remarked casually.

Charlie always had to keep up a mystical presence, considering the fact that anyone would want to take a peek into a store run by a strange little man, which smelled so strongly of rosemary that the stank of the sewers seemed more homely.

"Alright, alright. Wha' can I a do for ya Rita? Come to sell some mo' exotic goods 'ave ya?" His cockney accent began to sneak in once his guard was down.

"Yea, Yea. Check these out, it took my all week for these." She approached the counter and set down the brown box; the clank of the contents caused Charlie's ears to tweak with delight.

"Oh, this is wonderful this is! Would ya look at that, this silver chain looks like it could have come from the second Dynasty; or at least that's what we need to think, aint it?" He gave Rita an sinister grin. _That's businessmen for you. Not a spec of honesty these days, but hey, he's just another guy trying to make a living like the rest of us_ she thought sarcastically.

"So 'ow much you want it for, anyway?" Rita asked, hands falling to her hips.

Charlie drew that mystic look again, measuring the goods. He rummaged through the box, and thought deeply for a few seconds. Rita had been a reliable partner in the past, and there wasn't a reason he should hold back any offers.

"Remember that engine you wanted to buy? Said I'd never trade it I did…" He droned sadly. The engine he spoke of weighed on Rita's mind heavily.

Ever since she was a little girl, Rita always had a dream to sail the drains of Europe. But a trip of that magnitude would require a complete overhaul of the _Jammy_; an expensive feat. The engine which Wu spoke of was only one of the many components she would need to set her dream into motion.

"Well, ow' about a deal then? You keep hauling these kinds of loads to me, and I'll see about that engine getting fixed for ya."

Rita rolled her eyes. Charlie wouldn't give up that engine for mere scrap, there had to be something else.

"So what's the catch here Charlie? How many of these boxes am I supposed to bring; what's to say that you keep your end of the bargain?"

"Well…" he scratched his chin, no doubt for dramatic set up.

"I'd say, about twenty more crates like these, and you got yourself a deal." The emphasis he placed on the twenty made it sound like it wasn't that much work.

"What?! Twenty loads, it takes me two and a half weeks to fill one!" _Twenty loads, Charlies out of his mind!_ One crate took her full willpower to gather, and brought only a decent price on market. But twenty! Why, that was worth about the same as the ruby in her pocket!

And as much as Rita Malone wanted to travel, her families' welfare was first priority. This conflict of interest always frustrated her.

"Rita darlin', it's all I ask. No reason to get angry or anything! If you want payment in the usual form, we can agree there." Charlie backed off. He must have hurt Rita somehow, he thought. She usually didn't show her anger.

"Yes…well then." Rita composed herself. She was slightly infuriated by his demands, and prodding such an important subject with such high demand was a low blow.

"Just go ahead and get the usual." Rita shrugged him off, folding her arms across her chest.

"Alright, alright. Sorry Ri, I'll be right back" Charlie backed away and into the storage room where he kept her usual allotment of money.

Rita looked about the shop again, trying to distract herself. Charlie came hobbling back with a small satchel of coins.

"Here we go, an' remember, don't spend it all in one place. How's yer dad, by the way?"

Rita smiled. "He's getting better, at least the doctor says. Thanks for asking." Charlie always seemed to cheer her up.

"I'll see ya back soon I hope. Say…you sure ye don't need any help on board yer ship? You'd make twice the productivity, I'd think." Charlie said hopefully. _Always looking for a profit, aren't you Charlie?_ But in all honesty, he was worried for her.

Rita shook her head and smiled. "That's okay Charlie; I think I can handle things myself." She turned to go.

Charlie stopped; as if transfixed by some unknown force; his oriental accent came through as he spoke: "The lone crane can only fly so far against the wind. Its wings will give out eventually, and it will fall into the cold, lonely darkness. Remember that Ri."

Rita stopped. Something about those words cut her deep… She turned to him, but he was gone. She was the only one left in the shop.

Rita didn't know what to think. _What was that supposed to mean?_ It was kind of true, she wasn't getting as much done on the _Dodger_ as usual since her father left the crew. But this was out of place for Charlie. _Is he really that worried? I don't need anyone's help…_

She turned out of the shop, pocketing the cash. She jumped onto the boat, tugged on the engine, and started on her way to the next drain, where she would make camp and await tomorrows new spoils.

If there was anything Rita wanted more than her family being happy, it was being able to go sail on her own on a great adventure_. Nothing would be better, sailing solo across the country…I don't need anyone else, to get in the way. They'd only hold me down…_

She let out a sigh. It had been too long without any progress towards her trip. Her families' demands were only growing, and a moments reprieve was nowhere in sight. But she'd hit the money sometime. As soon as her family was taken care of, she'd find a way to make her dream reality.

_The prophet must have been hanging around his shop for too long today or something…what could he have meant? _Rita shrugged off the notion. The _Dodger_ continued, gurgling the murky water through its intakes.

_The lone crane can only fly so far against the wind…before it falls into darkness._ The words meant something, and Rita could not help but shake the feeling that those words would manifest themselves…and soon.

Too soon.

As turned around the next corner, floodlights blared down, blinding her. A huge metallic ship loomed ahead.

"IT'S HER!" Spikes annoying voice rang out, breaking the silence of the sewers. "Get her, boys!"

Rita gasped out in shock. The submarine's engines roared to life, as the henchrats bore down on her with awesome speed.

Rita was faster. She threw the Jammy in full reverse, hauling down the street backwards. Doing a one-eighty rotation, she jammed the throttle and sped ahead. Their submarine was much slower than her, so she was lucky in that sense.

Pulling ahead, she curved around the bend to find a small alleyway to her left. Knowing the submarine would be much too large to pass, she sped through to make her escape.

Rita cursed under her breath. _They must have followed me and lost me in Chinatown. Now they know I'm still up and running, they'll be looking again._ Shooting past a corner sharply, she sped out of Chinatown and into the depths of the sewers. She'd have to lay low, again. They would be sweeping the area, and she was completely out of fuel, running on reserve now.

Her pursuers rounded the corner to only find a light trail of wake to follow, through an impassible alleyway in their current vehicle. They'd lost her again.

Rita muttered thanks to some unknown power, she had really gotten lucky. They completely caught her off guard…something that should not have happened, ever. She was still distracted about Charlie's words…she shook her head.

And somewhere inside her… she felt she didn't want to be the lone crane…not anymore.

* * *

Above the drains of London, high above in the district of Kensington, another lone soul dwell. A soul, who unknowingly was perhaps the loneliest in all of Europe, cursed to live in solitude for his entire life. 

But he didn't think so.

"FORE!"

Roddy swung hard at pea, golf ball size for him, and watched it sail a foot before rolling to the three foot mark. He smiled, and turned back to his crowd of watchers, only to notice that he'd knocked off their heads while taking his gargantuan swing.

But don't worry; they did not feel the pain of decapitation. They were just dolls.

"Oops! Sorry!" He smiled. He ran over and reattached their plastic head joints.

"My bad, won't happen again mates!" He set them up again.

"Ah, well wasn't that fun lads?" He looked around at his collection of 'friends'. "Of course it was." He laughed, and collected the golfing clubs.

"Alright everyone, to the 'Rod'moblie! We've got to clean this field up." He created an impromptu ball hopper out of a mini-vacuum cleaner, and attached it to the back. Driving around, the contraption sucked up the peas and cleared the room.

"Well, what's next?" Roddy asked of his comrades. He checked his list of activities for the day. Following the checked boxes, his eyes fell to 'Volleyball'.

_Ah, a personal favorite!_ He quickly sprinted to the car and hopped into the driver's seat, Dukes of Hazard style of course. _I'm cool like that._

He quickly flipped the power switch and sped forward to the living room to set up the nets.

Now, one must understand that Roddy wasn't ill, nor was he delusional. Okay, maybe he was. Slightly. But you couldn't blame him. Roddy had known no other company his entire life. A rat without family or friends, he was lonely. He had to create some kind of reality, even if it was an illusion.

And as funny as it was to watch a rat serve a ball to a doll, which couldn't do anything but get hit and fall over, it was also very tragic; a story of its own.

A few hours later, Roddy dropped off his friend at the doll house after their movie-night out.

"See you tomorrow!" He saluted her, and drove back over to his cage. He climbed up the makeshift rope ladder, and grabbed his electronic toothbrush.

After brushing his teeth, Roddy was completely exhausted. So ended another day in the life of Roddy St. James; blissfully unaware of how heartbreaking his story actually was. To him, his life was heaven. To the rest, a shattered husk of sadness. Perhaps the most saddening of all was his most frequent nightly routine.

"Good Night!" he crooned out into the darkness of his home. A pause, and then the echo of his cry sounded somewhere deep in his home, again and again, slowly fading with each reverberation.

"Yea…well, good night then, Roddy." He told himself, for comfort.

It was in this moment for a small split second, he realized his life was lacking something, but he quickly dropped the thought: a inner defense, perhaps?.

Roddy chose to remain ignorant of the truth; which was good in one way; much worse in the other.

Yet, deep underground in the sewers of London, another rat possessed the same mind-set.

If only they both knew their fates would intertwine, forever, in the most dramatic way possible...

In less than twelve hours.


End file.
